


Dirty Dancing and a Tahoe

by olndina



Category: Glee
Genre: Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olndina/pseuds/olndina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for this <a href="http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/8721.html?thread=16202769">prompt</a> at <a href="http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com">gkm</a>:</p><p>A tipsy Sam and Puck are joking around at a party and start dirty dancing and grinding up on each other during one of the songs. The joking soon turns into the real thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Dancing and a Tahoe

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in July '11, so it is not S3 nor S4 compliant. I posted it both at my lj, and ff. ff pulled the title because I exceeded the rating requirements.
> 
> There are relatively few things I own in this world… Glee is not one of them.  
> I do, however, hold a firm grasp of English Grammar, Usage, and Mechanics, as well as a fertile and dirty imagination. Please enjoy.

Sam knows that he had a good reason for not grinding up on Puck when he first saw him dancing like _that_ in the middle of Lauren’s basement, but right now, with Puck clearly singing “Anything you can do, I can do better” (yes, Sam’s seen _Annie Get Your Gun_ a few times) in hip-wiggle-ese, he can’t remember what that reason was.  Give him a break, though, because that had been three or four shots ago, and Sam can’t resist showing off his body, especially when the music is loud and thumping, and (what with the New Directions, the Warblers, the football team, the wrestling team, and the AV club) it’s a veritable sausage fest at Lauren’s end-of-summer party.  Seriously, it’s a testament to just how hot Puck and Sam actually _are_ that all of the Cheerios are crowding around their dance-off.  Puck smirks when Sam does his own hip-wiggle and runs his hands down his chest. 

“Seriously, is that all you got, Evans?”  Puck pulls his wife beater over his head and tucks it into the back of his belt.  Sam’s eyes are immediately drawn to the low rise of Puck’s jeans and the waistband of his underwear.  He bites his lip and forces himself to look back up at Puck, who’s running his hands down his own chest and abs while he leans back on one of his feet in a “come fuck this” manner.

“Wanky, just… wanky,” Santana calls out and then shoves Sam into Puck.   Sam catches his balance before he completely topples into Puck, but now his hands are resting on Puck’s hips.  “Give us a show, boys.” 

The crowd catcalls, and Puck’s smirk just grows bigger.  “You heard the lady.  Let’s give them a show.”  Sam doesn’t so much say anything as he just sort of shoves a leg between Puck’s legs and grinds into him.  Puck hisses.  “Touché, Sammy.”  Sam lets himself think he has the upper hand for about two seconds when Puck grabs at his belt buckle and pulls Sam even closer.  Sam moves his head to the side just before he and Puck concuss each other, and Puck says into his ear, “You and I are so getting laid tonight.”  Sam’s confused for a moment—because when did this become about sex—but then Puck keeps talking.  “I bet there’s not a single dry pair of panties in this joint.  You and me, Sammy, we make one studly package.”

“Lauren?”  Sam asks.

“Dumped me.”

“Dude, that sucks.”

“Not really.  Wasn’t gettin’ any anyway.  You breaking anyone’s heart tonight?”

Sam shakes his head, because he and Mercedes had decided last week that, yeah, they were totally better as friends.

“Cool.  I got an idea.”

They had still been facing one another, so when Puck pushes away from him, Sam’s a little disappointed at the sudden lack of contact.  But, then Puck turns around and grabs Sam’s hands, running them up to his pecs.  Sam’s jaw drops open for about a second and he has to hurry and close it, biting his lip again to prevent a moan or groan or “Oh, god, yes” from escaping his lips because he remembers that he and Puck are putting on a show for the, uh, ladies.  Yeah. 

Puck turns his head and growls out, “Dude, don’t just stand there.  Move those hips!”  He forces one of Sam’s hands to his hip and starts gyrating.  Sam moves his own hips jerkily a couple of times before he finds the beat again.  He’s not entirely sure, but he doesn’t think he can blame the alcohol for how flushed his face is.  He’s also starting to remember why he had originally thought this whole dancing-with-Puck thing’s a bad idea.  He’s grateful that there’s still some room between them, because well, Sam won’t be the only one to find out why it’s a bad idea that they dance together should Puck close that - 

_Shit!_

Puck closes the distance between them, his ass now pressed firmly against Sam’s crotch and there’s no way in hell that he can miss the fact that Sam’s cock had gone from a semi to “Oh, god, oh, god, fuck me please” in the time between Puck’s “I got an idea” to now. 

Sam doesn’t even get a chance to back away and make his escape before Puck’s spinning back around, breaking Sam’s hold on him.  Sam, for his part, is already bracing himself for the inevitable beat-down.  As cool as Puck is with Kurt, Sam’s heard about the dumpster-tossing and he’s pretty sure that having another dude’s boner pressed into his ass will warrant said dude a quick trip to the hospital.  But, when the first punch doesn’t come, Sam opens his eyes, not realizing that he’d closed them in the first place. 

Puck’s face is so close to his that Sam can’t properly make out his expression, but he can see Puck’s blown pupils.  Puck’s hands are hot where he’s gripping Sam’s hips, and when did he slide his hands under Sam’s shirt?  Sam shudders when Puck swipes his thumbs across his skin, sending pleasure jolts throughout his body.  “I told you to move, Evans.”  Puck pulls on Sam’s hips and they’re straddling each other again.  This time, Sam does groan.  He can feel Puck’s cock, also hard, brush his quad.  When Puck pushes his own thigh into Sam’s erection, Sam bites his lip again, tasting blood where he breaks the skin. 

Every other person in the basement might as well not even be there, because Sam only knows Puck and how Puck’s back feels under his fingers.  Puck’s still staring into his eyes when Sam lets go of his poor, abused lip.  He darts a tongue out to wipe away the little spot of blood and Puck’s eyes dart down to the movement.  Sam’s vaguely aware that what they’re doing isn’t technically dancing anymore, but more like dry humping.  It’s okay, though, as long as neither of them gets off in front of everyone, right?  Right? 

Puck brings his mouth to Sam’s ear again and says, “I’m going out to my car.  Meet me in five minutes.”  The song ends and switches to a slower one.  The rest of the party comes back in a loud rush when Puck finally steps away from Sam and bows to the audience, blowing kisses to the crowd of girls.  Santana immediately wraps her arms around him and drags him away from the dance floor. 

Sam, whose pants are still way too tight, but he’s hoping that no one notices because it’s too crowded, starts to follow him with his eyes when Tina steps in front of him, Mike right behind her.  She’s panting when she says, “Can you do that with Mike?”

“Sure,” Sam answers absentmindedly.  “Wait, what?”

“Will you dance with Mike?”

“Um…” He looks at Mike, who rolls his eyes and puts his arms around his girlfriend.

“Come on, Tina.  Leave the poor boy alone.”

“But, but, the hotness!  With the abs and with your abs! And- ”

Sam shakes his head and walks to the drinks table, because he seriously needs to kill some time.  He opens a bottle of water and downs about half of it when he feels arms around his waist again. He dribbles some of the water out of his mouth.

“You know, with a mouth like that, you’d think you’d have no trouble keeping things in it.”  Santana lets go of him.  “I mean, seriously, I’d think you’d have more trouble keeping things out of it.”

Sam might be a little bit pissed because she dragged Puck off to parts unknown and, well, he and Puck have unfinished business, so that was totally not cool of her.  “What do you want, Lima Heights Adjacent?”

She glares at him, because, unlike the rest of WMHS, with the exception of Brittany and maybe Puck, Sam remembers that Santana’s dad is a doctor, and she’s not really from the wrong side of the tracks, or whatever it is she claims.  “Puck says to hurry the fuck up.  Oh, don’t look at me like that.  Puck and I keep each other’s secrets.  Plus, the backseat of my Tahoe is a helluva lot bigger than his Jeep. You’re welcome.”

Sam’s face flushes, but he’s saved from any sort of answer because Santana spins on her heel and walks away.

Sam finishes his water and gives up all pretense of sneaking out of the party, you know, sneakily, but when he gets outside, he’s stumped.  He has no idea where the hell Santana’s Tahoe is.  Because there’s, like, a used car lot of vehicles in Lauren’s yard—and the clouds have the moon covered up and Lauren lives in the freaking country so there’s no street light—Sam can’t really tell a Tahoe from a fucking Prius at this point in time.  He’s vaguely wishing for some sort of X-Men mutant power that would let him see in the dark or smell Puck when he lets out a really girlish squeal (shut-up, Nashville isn’t exactly crawling with farms and it’s freaking horror movie creepy out here) as Puck grabs him and shoves him into the side of what Sam’s assuming is Santana’s Tahoe. 

Puck doesn’t give Sam any time to recover as he wordlessly pushes Sam’s arms over his head, holding his wrists one-handed.  With his other hand, he fumbles Sam’s buckle and fly open.  “Oh, god.”  Sam closes his eyes when Puck’s fist wraps around his still-hard cock.  “Puck.”  Puck still doesn’t say anything as he starts slowly jerking Sam off.  Sam’s sort of shaking all over because, well, damn, he’s the only person to have touched his cock like this and he’s a little nervous.  Then, Puck’s tongue is pushing at Sam’s lip, eliciting a gasp from him because he’d seriously bitten the hell out of his lip earlier, but he’s not shaking anymore because he’s gone straight into really fucking turned on, so he’s not complaining.  Puck slides his tongue into Sam’s open mouth and Sam can taste him and, god, Puck tastes as good as he smells, like how a musky, sweaty man should taste when he’s kissing you and getting you off.  Er, not that Sam’s exactly thought about this, you know, more than one or two times.  Okay, so maybe not more than one or two times every other jerk-off session.

Sam groans and tries to bring his hands down, to run one of them through Puck’s ‘hawk or something because, really, while maybe she didn’t exactly mean for southern hospitality to extend to, well, south of this particular border, his mama still raised him right, but Puck only tightens his hold on Sam’s wrists and starts fisting him faster.  Sam moans and sort of shoves Puck’s tongue out of the way so he can at least get his tongue into _Puck’s_ mouth, and Puck lets him.  Sam strains his head forward and swipes across Puck’s gums, his teeth, and the roof of his mouth and finally, finally elicits a noise from Puck.  Puck growls and breaks away from the kiss and bites down on the join of Sam’s neck and shoulder.  “Oh, god, Puck, I’m gonna… Dude, what the hell?”  Sam’s arms flop down to his sides and Sam opens his eyes.  He briefly registers that the clouds have moved out of the way and he can see properly—which would have been helpful before he’d screamed like a little girl.  Puck smirks and crosses his arms under his chest and Sam can’t believe he forgot that Puck wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he’s more concerned with something else at the moment.  “No, seriously, dude, what the hell?”

Puck rolls his eyes and reaches beside Sam, opening the back door to the Tahoe.  There’s already a blanket spread out, and Sam tries not to think too much about how slutty he acts when he’s scrambling into the vehicle, kicks his shoes off, and shoves his jeans off as quickly as he possibly can.  Puck follows suit, but Sam doesn’t get a chance to see his dick properly because by the time he has his shirt up and off his head, Puck’s fully inside the SUV and the door is shut, cutting off the dome light.  He doesn’t let this disappoint him though and tries to pull Puck down on top of himself.  Puck grunts in surprise even as he catches himself by bracing one arm on the backseat and the other beside Sam’s head.  Sam rolls his hips, and, yeah, that’s probably a little slutty, but then their cocks sort of touch and Puck’s arms give out and his gasp is hot in Sam’s ear.  Sam lets one foot dangle over the back of the seat while the other rests on the floor.  Puck can’t be terribly comfortable, but he’s not complaining.  Sam wraps his arms around Puck, thrusting his hips again.  This time, Puck moans and angles his head down to bite at Sam’s neck again.

“Oh, god, Puck, Jesus.”  Sam’s shaking again and he’s so fucking close that if Puck stops right now, it won’t fucking matter because Sam will come in fucking ropes.  But—with the grunts, groans, moans, and heavy breathing that Puck is doing—Sam’s pretty sure that aliens would fucking have to abduct him for Puck to stop.  Puck adjusts again and rolls to Sam’s side a little, freeing up just enough space so that he can wedge a hand between them, grasping both their dicks, working them together.  He looks down, as though trying to see the slide of flesh on flesh.  Sam can’t not move one of his own hands down to join Puck’s because he has to feel what Puck is feeling.  Puck snaps his head up to look at Sam.  Sam smiles and rubs a thumb across Puck’s slit.  Puck bucks his hips forward and mashes a sloppy kiss to Sam’s lips.  Sam feels his toes curling and uncurling, the tightness in his balls almost unbearable because he’s so freaking close.  He pulls out of the kiss and strangles out, “Puck, I’m going to, god, I’m-I’m –”

Puck bites Sam’s lip, then says, “Yeah, do it.  Come for me.”

Sam had thought Puck sounded hot when he told him to meet him outside.  He was wrong.  That was Puck sounding lukewarm.  But now, especially since Puck hadn’t said a damn word since then, Jesus, hearing him saying _what_ he said, in a voice roughened from sex and lust, has Sam arching his back and coming in a long groan.  His vision, well, it just whites right the fuck out, while his muscles feel like they’ll never flex again, which is just a shame because it takes _work_ to keep his abs looking this good.

The first thing Sam notices when his mind returns to the Tahoe is that he’s thirsty, almost dehydrated.  The next thing he notices is that, while bigger than the backseat of Jeep, the backseat of a Tahoe isn’t really meant for two dudes to lie down in it.  After this thought comes the realization that he’s burning up, which finally leads Sam to the thought that while Puck is heavy, it’s a weight he could totally get used to.

He lifts a heavier-than-usual arm and runs his fingers down Puck’s spine.  “Puck?”

“Umph.”

“Did you, uh, did you, you know?”

Puck lifts his head and Sam can just make out the look of incredulity on his face.  “Seriously, Evans?  You have to ask?”

Sam flushes, again.  “I guess not.”

Puck chuckles and pushes himself up.  Sam instantly feels their jizz cooling on his stomach and before he really thinks it through, he drags a finger through the stuff and sticks in his mouth.

“That is so gay, dude,” Puck says, then promptly does the same thing to what’s left on his own stomach.  He gives a happy little moan.  Sam agrees with that little moan, and wipes his finger through the mess again, this time offering his finger to Puck.  Puck grabs his hand and shoves Sam’s digit in his mouth, sucking hard.  Sam feels his dick twitch in interest. 

“That is so, just, so hot.”

Puck doesn’t respond, except to drop Sam’s hand and proceed to lick the rest off of Sam’s abs.  Sam can only buck his hips up, because his thought process is hovering somewhere between “unf” and “guh.”  When Puck finishes and Sam feels like he’s about to hump his brains out, Puck hoists himself back up to where he can kiss Sam.  Sam had “enjoyed” the salty bitterness (salterness should totally be a word) before, but now, now, combined with the taste of Puck’s mouth, well, Sam thinks he could do this for the rest of his fucking life. 

He’s pretty sure he can talk Puck into another round, despite the fact that, seriously, it’s just damn uncomfortable with his legs in this position, when someone pounds on one of the tinted windows. 

Puck presses one last kiss to Sam’s lip and sits up.  “Okay, okay, Lopez!  Hold on a fucking minute!”  Sam sits up and together, they sort out their clothes and are doing that awkward “we’re two tall dudes in the backseat of an SUV trying to get dressed” thing when Puck starts chuckling.  He takes a breath to speak, but before he can, Sam beats him to it.  “I swear to god, if you say ‘I told you I’d get us laid tonight,’ I will beat your ass, Puckerman.”

“Dude, you sounded just like me.”

“A thank you, thank you very much.”

“But your Elvis sucks.”

“Hey!” Sam stops tying his shoe and slugs Puck in the shoulder.  “My Elvis is epic!”

“Sure it is, Sammy.”

“It is.”

Santana beats on the window again.  “If you two homos are done, I gots to get home and gets my sleep on.”

“Alright, alright, keep your tits on.”  He pulls his tank back over his head and looks at Sam, grabbing his wrist.  “Wanna come over tonight?  My mom’s working late and – ”

“Hell fucking yes, dude.”

Puck kisses him again then opens the door, Sam following.

~~X~~

**Author's Note:**

> This does not and will not have a sequel/companion.


End file.
